


Call of Need

by candlelight27



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Mad Sweeney Needs a Hug (American Gods), Smut, sweeney knows what you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 11:47:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12816864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candlelight27/pseuds/candlelight27
Summary: You've always hated that awful Leprechaun. You didn't even believe in him, how could you see him? Yes, you hate him. But at this moment you need him too, even if you don't want to admit it.





	Call of Need

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this. I'm sorry it's so sad, but I needed to place this frustration somewhere. I hope the hotness makes it up to you... maybe... Look I just need the utter adoration of a certain leprechaun to cope with life right now. Take it or leave it. Stated this, enjoy! Any suggestions, comments, thoughts, corrections are welcome. I hope you have a lovely night, lots of love for everyone.

“I can’t bring her back,” Mad Sweeney said.

You took a step forwards to leave the dark corner where you were hiding. The dim rays of the moon that flew through the window barely enlightened your face, but the leprechaun didn’t need any illumination, he had your features burnt in his pupils. His fists closed and his chest rose in a sigh.

“Why did you wish for me to be here?” He asked, genuinely curious. You just huffed.

He couldn’t help but notice the sad looking loaf of bread and the glass of milk. The lack of his usual copious offering was almost painful. He actually had believed you would never see him again after she died. Your hatred, your denial, it was nothing new, he had encountered it through ages. Some were believers, some weren’t. Sweeney had expected you to make up an excuse to the magical visions; it was inherently human, in the end, to mask the truth in favour of a bearable lie.

However, he’d been wrong about you. It was obvious you had accepted his existence, given that you could see him and had, in fact, invoked him.

He tried again, unable to contain the nerves in his guts. “I _can’t_ bring her back.”

“I heard you the first time,” you hissed annoyed. “Do you ever shut up?” It was more to yourself, to distract your restless mind. You had yourself the same questions he was formulating.

The leprechaun pulled a chair from under the table and sat. He spread his legs wide, brushed his red beard, bit his lip, everything in order not to snap and provoke your wrath further. There was not alcohol enough in his system to mask the harm your words would cause him.

“Not even a fuck off?” You dared, a bitter laugh stuck in your throat. Shame and regret placed a light red on your cheeks. There wasn’t wild fire, like many times before, but heavy, sad stones in the bottom of a steam. “I see you already knew about... I only wanted to tell you.” You refused to meet his stare. “Why don’t you leave already?”

“I can’t.” You frowned at his answer.

“Take the damned offering and go.”

Even when your deepest feelings were screaming it to him, doubt shadowed Mad Sweeney. He was used to your repudiation. He wasn’t aware of the exact reason; perhaps you had known long ago he brought, often along with luck, curses and misfortune, or perhaps you had felt in your bones the ancient amalgam of hate and resentment and mirrored it on him. 

Yet despite what you spoke, it was as clear as the summer sky. You yearned his presence and it was impossible for him to deny you anything, even when every bit of your consciousness was denying it.

“I told you I bloody can’t. You wish me to stay.” He had opted for the easy way. He would have said he didn’t _want_ to go, if you and your every wish weren’t the only things he cared for.

You didn’t reply.

Instead, you grabbed his fiery hair, then roughly pressed your lips against his. Had he been standing, you wouldn’t have been able to reach them. On the contrary, the magical creature was at your mercy in that chair, in every sense, and he was doing nothing to prevent it.

He should have stopped it right away. It was wrong. He shouldn’t have let your warmth anywhere near him, nor the softness of your skin. It was madness, such undeserving creature with such a perfect creation of nature. He should have shoved you aside, he should have let you alone to mourn, he should have stepped out of your life. But doing any of those things meant losing what he’s been wanting all those years. It meant losing the one opportunity he’s longed for in thousands of years.

Nonetheless, he didn’t pay attention the ripping sensation in his chest and tried, because you were just much more than what he deserved, and he was much less than what you deserved.

“Stop,” he commanded as he tore himself from your kiss. “We can’t, you-”

“It’s what I wish.”

He was breathing hard through his nose, avoiding staring at you. “I’m taking advantage of you.”

“You are a filthy trickster. Surely you’ve done so much worse than taking advantage of someone.” Your hand found his jaw. You made him look at you. “And I don’t need magic to see you are dying to take advantage of me.”

You were right. Distressingly right.

The sight of you broke the heart he had forgotten having. They were red, tears were threatening to fall. Anger rose in his blood as well as desire, feelings that reduced any sense that was inside him and turned him into something else. Something primal. Something that had surely done so much worse. Something he had attempted to fight, and had always lost to.

Thus, Mad Sweeney left all remorse behind and let himself go.

He grabbed your arm, making you fall upon his lap. A soft gasp fell from your lips, the ones he straightaway covered with his own in raw passion. The leprechaun was devouring you, all teeth and tongue, while he held whatever he reached. It was like a dream; everything disappeared but him. His big, greedy palms didn’t cease moving. They were on your rear and all of a sudden, they climbed to your waist or your shoulders. It seemed he was consuming you, it seemed you were a delayed treasure he was eager to get, and you’d happily allow him to take what he needed.

He retreated to breath. His flavour, of homesickness, of desperation, of hollowness, lingered. You caressed his neck and his temple, his muscles visibly tensing underneath. More tears were starting to form once you realized you had ignored all his suffering, because perhaps it was already too late. You took your shirt off, not wanting to acknowledge anything else than what was happening that precise moment.

“Fuck,” was all he groaned, as he immediately set on you to taste the revealed skin.

His teeth closed hard, his fingertips dug deep, your hips ground against his. His large erection rubbed your core and, despite your upper position, he managed to take control.

Sweeney was overwhelming; you were sinking in his beastly essence so much you couldn’t keep his pace. You didn’t know how, but he popped your breasts out of your brassiere. He licked, leaving a hot trail of saliva to your nipple, which he sucked as if life was pouring out of them. His hand made its way towards your crotch. He undid the button of your jeans, slowly lowering the zip. His mere graze there sent sparks of joy through your body.

“Sweeney”, you exclaimed in a breathless voice.

“No.” He howled. “Not Sweeney. _Suibhne_. _Buile Suibhne_.” He inserted a digit within your burning core, muting you. His thick finger steadily traced circles in your wetness as the rest of him stopped to look at your face. “Say it. Now.”

You saw them, regal sparks of gold in his irises, a sad lament of his past. You gulped the pleasure and fulfilled his demand.

“ _Suibhne_.”

It was small, close to non-existent, yet he heard it. It was meant for him, just him. He wouldn’t permit anyone take it away from him, not even the night, not even dawn; it would remain there forever, trapped in his ears for the years to pass. To the leprechaun, it was like an enchantment. He lifted you without a warning and laid you down upon the surface of the table. You didn’t have time to whine about the loss of his closeness; he was quick as a lightning removing his jacket. With the same speed, he slid the coarse fabric of your pants down your legs.

His length stood proud from a mane of red pubes. He took in you, spread in front of him. Had you been able to observe him, you’d seen his tense jaw, his broken gaze asking for help, for love, for support, his shoulders dropping out of admiration. But the beast was back and thus he attacked you.

“ _Suibhne_...” You repeated when he slammed himself inside of you. He caged you with his arms and chest, you surrounded him with your thighs. There was only a bliss.

“Your cunt feels so fucking good,” he huffed, “better than what I…” He thrust in you with such force the table is left trembling, in the manner you are. You remained oblivious to his talk, and he preferred it that way. What would have changed if you knew he’d been thinking of this for so long? That he wanted to stay in you and never go out? That he’d been so desperate for you he’d stole a visit at any chance he got?

Your toes are curling as his cock stretches you. Sweeney had to bite down on your throat to keep his traitorous mouth shut, only guttural sounds reverberating in him. He smelt of sex and nature, of sweat and home. You made him squeeze you harder against the wood.

He was getting faster as his peak is showing. He perceived your want for release too, a thing he longed for more than his own relief. His practiced fingers were back down south, your bundle of nerves art their mercy. And there he did wonders, circling, pinching and rubbing. The knot in your abdomen broke, a soft scream accompanied it. Your hips shook, as well as your interior hugged Sweeney through his own orgasm. His seed mixed with your juices. Yet, despite how good it felt, the only thing the leprechaun had in his mind was your sweet features contoured into the shape of carnal ecstasy.

It was his doom. He would never be able to forget it. It would haunt him, as much as all his past; he’d been born for that.

You were exhausted, catching your senses. Having you pressed against his chest while your hands clung to him for dear life was all he ever wanted. He had avoided his own impulses until he met you. He just wished there would have been a smile on your lips instead of a trail of tears down your cheeks. He wished that there was a chance of you loving him. However, none ever listened to his wishes.


End file.
